


Kill Me Softly

by telera



Series: Ed and Sam's D/s universe [4]
Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Dark, Dom/sub, M/M, Medical Kink, Needles, POV First Person, Subdrop, Subspace, Topdrop, Topspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:04:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telera/pseuds/telera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed prepares a very special scene for Sam. Written to explore Ed's Topspace and his Topdrop as well as Sam's subspace and his subdrop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill Me Softly

**Author's Note:**

> These stories do not follow any chronological order- they can be read independently.

Sleeping with Ed for so many months has changed me. There was a time when I used to sleep alone, and thought nothing of it. But now I need Ed by my side, I need him so much that when I feel he's not there, I wake up with a start. Like today. It's 3:37 a.m. and he's not here. I leave the bed with a frown and tiptoe down the stairs. I'm not supposed to do this, I'm supposed to remain in bed until he comes back, but I can't help myself. I'll be extra careful this time.

  
Ed does never take work home, so when I see him in his study with his laptop and several books, I know he's doing something else. The question is what. I take one bold step further into his study. It's dark except for the reading lamp by his side, and he's so immersed in his reading that he can't see me. I frown at the spines of the tomes scattered over his table. They're anatomy volumes, thick and heavy. They have labels from the library, and one of them seems to be about acupuncture.

I had no idea Ed had an interest in alternative medicine, but I really can't find any other reason why he has borrowed all those books from the library. I'm about to leave when he raises his head, and looks absently at the darkened window. He seems to make a decision then, and closes the book in his hands with a light thud. I hadn't noticed, but there is a bottle of alcohol by his side, and a swab of cotton. Ed cleans something I can't see from where I stand, then rubs some alcohol over his forearm and-

_Ouch_

He does it again, then murmurs- _Too deep._

I strain my eyes to see what he's doing, and suddenly something catches the light of the reading lamp. It's a silvery flash, long and thin, and my hearts thumps hard when I realize it's a needle. Ed taps the flesh of his forearm, then pierces his skin again, carefully this time. He nods in approval, cleans the needle with more alcohol and sticks the tip into the pad of his forefinger. He hisses, but a slow smile lights up his face then.

 _Again_ , he mutters to himself, then pinches a fold of flesh from the inside of his elbow and pierces it swiftly with a shorter needle. He leaves it there for a few minutes, all the while writing furiously in a notebook by his side. When he finally removes it, he can't help a laugh.

_Oh, he's gonna love it._

I know it's my cue to leave, and I do, going back to the master bedroom as the blood pounds in my ears. I feel dizzy, scared, hard and in love with Ed, more than I've been for a long time. When he returns after a while I've managed to calm down, but I'm still awake. I know better than to feign sleep, so I look at him with a frown.

'Everything OK?' I whisper.

'Sure' he says slipping under the covers 'Go back to sleep'.

And I do. In his arms.

***

When Ed doesn't let me cumm for a week, I think nothing of it. I'm used to it already, and I know that, eventually, he'll make the wait worth the while. But when he doesn't cumm either, I know he's planning something big. He's never saved it up for so long, and the thought of the needles comes unbidden to my mind.

  
I wish I could be honest with him and tell him I know about his plan, but I can't. It kills me to keep this secret from him, but I won't reveal it. It would spoil everything, and I'd make a big disappointment of myself. I'm now determined never to pry into his business again. It's takes half the fun from our relationship.

There's a bank holiday next Monday, and on Saturday, Ed tells me we'll be playing hard on Sunday night. He gives me a full day to think about it, and the suspense about his not-so-mysterious-plan-after-all keeps me on my toes nevertheless. We've never done needle play before, and I don't know what to expect. I feel dizzy, and exhilarated, and a little bit scared. Not of Ed- I trust him with my life. But it's a new game, and I never know where my mind will take me when I enter subspace.

We have a usual day on Sunday, but there are little signs here and there that point to the kind of scene we'll be playing tonight. We have no wine at lunch, and Ed prepares his famous fruit and milk smoothies to keep us both fresh and hydrated. After a very light and early dinner, he sends me to the bathroom at 7.30 p.m. and instructs me to have a thorough shower. There's a bottle of antiseptic shower gel waiting for me, and I know it's going to be the needles. I've spent half the day trying to fool myself into believing it's going to be something else. But as I lather my skin with the funny smelling gel, I know Ed's had enough nights to master his technique.

He calls me to the master bedroom, and I can't hide my surprise. We never play hard here- that's what the Games Room is all about. Our bed is where we sleep, rest and talk. He must have a very good reason to do this here, and I wish he told me. But I guess I'll soon find out.

'I have a surprise for you' Ed murmurs as I lie down, naked and trembling. My heart thumps in anticipation, and my muscles feel like overheated putty already. He gets the leather blindfold and smiles before he covers my eyes 'Have fun'.

Darkness, and then the feel of the ropes around my wrists and ankles. There will be no safewords tonight, just pain and pleasure until I pass out.

'Ready' I whisper.

Ed starts with the riding crop, slapping my skin until it's pink and tingling with electricity. I like to think of his crop as a snake, a black thing that bites me softly and poisons me with his sharp teeth. I hate and love the feeling in equal measure, and soon I'm begging for more. I'm not ashamed. He told me to enjoy it, and that's what I'm doing.

The suede flogger comes next, and I squirm in frustration. It's too soft, too soft, but Ed ignores my pleas and keeps a steady rhythm, striking from my waist up over and over again. I feel warm and half-hard, but I'm not there yet. Not yet.

Then something changes. I feel it in the air, and the smell of alcohol wafts to my nose in warning. But nothing could have ever prepared me for what came next. A needle, sharp and seemingly hot, piercing the smooth flesh inside my elbow. It's a double prick, inside, outside, and I'm sure there is no blood. Actually, the crop hurt more. But Ed leaves the needle there, and suddenly, that's all I can think about. Hard, unforgiving, penetrating me, as if I were a rag doll Ed was sewing up. Pinocchio, the bride of Frankenstein, Jack Skeleton, all at the same time. I am in subspace.

Two more tiny pricks, and two more, and Ed reaches my wrist, and I am begging him to stop with all the pleas that have ever been invented. If only I knew more languages, I could beg more, and better.

_Ed, please, no more, no more..._

But his roaming fingers are a death sentence, and when I feel them circling my nipples I trash like a wild thing. That only makes the tiny wounds in my arms pulse and throb in time with my heartbeat, and suddenly they become little, hungry mouths begging for more. Ed, who is sadistic only as Sade himself was, does not pierce my nipples, but my areolas. I imagine them framed by a wreath of needles, and the thought goes straight to my cock. I beg and beg, but I don't know what I'm saying anymore. Ed is talking too, but all I hear is the wet swab of the cotton as he moves to my other elbow and wrist.

He later told me he only used ten needles, and less than five minutes to pierce me. But I was swimming with dolphins then, and the little, pulsating wounds were cannibal butterflies with long scorpion stings. I feel another change, my legs free and over Ed's shoulders, and his thick, hard cock enters me with a slow burn. I purr in delight as his hand fists my cock, and then, then the coup de grâce comes when a needle pierces my foreskin.

It's such an exquisite agony, thorny and sweet, like lying in a bed of caramel wire as Ed fucks me with the might of a sea giant. I never knew if I came before or after passing out.

There are no dreams in my sleep. There never are, and I'm grateful for that. When I come to, I am clean, and free, my skin dotted with little round band-aids coated with antiseptic cream. Ed is looking at me with a strange, sated smile.

'Thirsty?' he asks, and brings an orange juice to my lips. I drink almost all of it, and next comes a bit of bacon, and then another. I don't know what time it is, if this is breakfast or lunch or dinner, all I feel is sadness and emptiness as I spiral down into sub drop. Ed is ready for it, he always is, and he feeds me thin French crepes filled with chocolate and whipped cream, and I eat so hungrily, relishing the sweetness that soothes the bitter void I feel inside.

'Go back to sleep' he murmurs, and I cling to his chest like a baby bird to his mother, because I feel so cold and alone I think I could choke to death any minute now.

I wake up many hours later, and this time I feel more myself. Ed is reading by my side, and I know, know he hasn't moved an inch away from my side in all this while. I always wonder how he deals with his Top drop, if he feels so cranky and miserable as I do, but I guess his remedy is the same as mine. Time, food, sleep and comfort.

'Hi' I murmur, and Ed puts his book down.

'Hi' and with that he kisses me, and I kiss him back, because I lack the words to say how deeply I love him, and I trust my kiss to speak better than I ever could.

'How are you feeling?' he asks with a light frown, and I know he is a little worried. Time to be honest.

'I feel... woozy. Turned inside out. But I'm fine. I'll be fine. You?'

He sighs.

'Tired. Drained. But I'll also be fine. Let me hold you'.

I lie on my side, and Ed spoons behind me, kissing my nape and hair softly.

'You were so good last night, Sam. So good you cannot imagine. You've made me so very proud, my love'.

Wow. Ed very rarely calls me that, and my heart feels like it's bursting with happiness. I nuzzle back into his embrace, feeling so cherished and safe that my eyes prickle with tears. Ed feels for the remote over the pillow then, and as Nina Simone begins her _My Baby Just Cares For Me_ , I have the certainty she never felt like I do now.

 

***

Something Sam and I discovered early on in our relationship is that we need time for ourselves after a scene. Alone. So when the Nina Simone CD ends playing, Sam leaves the bed, and I'm grateful for it.

'I need to run' he says, and the tension is back in his muscles, in his voice.

'See you later' is all I say.

We'll meet again at some point in the afternoon. But right now we both need to be alone, far away from the other. It's... strange. But without these few precious hours on my own, I think I would scream my head off. I guess it's the same for Sam.

Over the months, I've written a journal where I register all the feelings I go through after a scene. It's my 'Top Drop' survival list, and no matter how many times I've been there, I'd be lost without it. Sometimes I wonder if other Doms do the same, if they go through some kind of ritual to go back to normal. I wouldn't know, and their tricks wouldn't probably help me. My list works, because I've written it myself. It's the best advice I could ever have.

_1\. You'll feel cranky and upset -- > Go swimming._

I packed my sports bag yesterday, actually. The thought of cold water is not very welcoming right now, but I head for the swimming pool nonetheless. I like it that Sam deals with this restlessness in a similar way. But I wouldn't go jogging. It's just plain boring.

The swimming pool is almost empty, and I relax in the solitude of the quiet lane. I swim the distance over and over again, and when my arms hurt from the crawl style, I begin to swim on my back. I think I spend an hour like that, and when I'm done, I feel so much better. So powerful, really. Like I'm on the top of a mountain.

I almost have an argument with the receptionist girl of the swimming pool over my lost locker room key, and I feel a pretty bad insult burning my tongue at her incompetence. I leave with a threat to see her manager the following day, and when I'm back on the street again, I produce my little notebook from my pocket. My hands are trembling slightly as I flip through the pages:

_2\. You'll feel all-mighty and disdainful-- > Avoid people at all costs and don't get into any fights_

Fuck, this is always so hard. I never quite succeed here. I need to go home. Now.

At first I used to drive to the sports centre, but now I walk the thirty minutes walk from home. I once got trapped in a traffic jam and well. I don't want to remember that. It's safer to walk, for me and for everybody. As I saunter down the street I can't help thinking all the people around me are pitiful, silly creatures. How can they be so pathetic, so stupid? How can they live their lives without being me? I know I'm smiling derisively at all of them, and I force myself to read the next sentence I wrote for myself:

_2.1. Let the superiority feelings wash over you. They're a consequence of the chemical cocktail in your brain. They're not you. THEY'LL PASS._

I know what I've written is true, but I can only understand it at a logical level. In my gut I feel innately superior to everybody else, and I take a deep, calming breath as I keep on walking. I'm almost home now.

The apartment is quiet and empty, and I feel a familiar frustration rising up in my belly. This is the hardest part of it all, the part Sam will never know, must never know. I don't want to feel the feelings itching around me, but I know struggling against them only makes things worse. So, I let the frustration and anger flare up inside me.

_3\. You'll hate Sam very much. Let it be. See 2.1._

The first time I experienced this, I thought I had gone insane. Now I know it's a necessary part of the process. That doesn't mean I like it, of course. But the more I think of Sam, the more I hate him. I mean, it's always so easy for him. He only has to lie on the bed and trust. He never does any of the hard work. He doesn't have to come up with ideas for new scenes, he doesn't have to read books, to buy stuff or practice beforehand to make sure everything's going to be safe... It's not fair. It's not. If I can be honest, I'm too good for him. Too good.

I'm punching the pillows as I think all this, and I pull the sheets off the bed forcefully. That's when I realize there are tears in my eyes, and I don't know what scares me the most, that I need to weep or that I've thought those terrible things of Sam. I take the sheets downstairs, and my hands tremble again as I measure a cup of washing powder. I like the rhythmic sound of the washing machine, so I slid to the floor and watch unseeingly as the sheets spin round and round inside the drum. I always cry here, in the laundry room, reading Hand wash - Cold Water - 30º over and over again.

I know the worst of the Top drop is over when a headache begins to hammer in my temples. I don't need my list to know the next step is taking some Tylenol and rest. I leave the laundry room and clean my glasses under the tap of the kitchen. I take two tablets for good measure, and I consider eating something. It's 2:30 p.m., but I'm not hungry. Rest. Rest is more important. I lie down on the sofa and close my eyes, reciting from memory what comes next.

_4\. Forgive yourself, remember the scene. Be happy and grateful. It's OK to masturbate. Wait for Sam._

I think I nap for about an hour or so, and when I wake up the headache is almost gone. I feel so much better, and I smile to myself as the images from last night flow unbidden into my head. What a superb scene it was. And Sam was so beautiful and strong and brave, taking all I gave him and surrendering until he was just a mass of inarticulate feelings. It was so exquisite to take him apart needle by needle- I could almost taste his whimpers every time I pierced him.

_Sssh, sssh, now, you're gonna like this... I'm so proud of you... Here, feel the prick of the needle... Again... Easy, Sam... Savour it, I know you like it... It's part of you now, take it... Accept it... Because that's my pleasure. And I've got more for you... You can beg all you want, but I'm not stopping until you are a good boy and take all these for me... For me, Sam, breathe... Don't forget to breath..._

I only make sense when Sam is here. I now know. I always know, but I guess my pride makes me forget it. It's been a dreadful Top drop, worse than previous times, but I welcome the lesson I've learned from it. It's for my own sake, and for Sam's. He deserves so much from me, so much more, that I promise myself I'll be the best Master I can for Sam, for him and only him, because if he were not here, I would loose all meaning. Like an antique book written in a language nobody can read.

I feel so small, so humbled, that I allow myself the last tears this day. Oh, Sam, Sam. Beautiful Sam, perfect Sam. There's not a dark desire in you I won't learn to satisfy. I'll be anything you need, all you need, because making you happy makes me happy. It's so simple and clear. A warm tingle buzzes in my belly, and I smile to the ceiling. I've found my centre again. At last.

I flip through the pages of my notebook to read the final advice:

_5\. Now write a self-help book for Doms!_

I laugh at my own joke, and I feel some of the heaviness leaving me at last. No, I won't write anything. I lock my notebook in my safe drawer, for when I need it again. As I sit on the computer table of my study, I begin to dangle my feet as I wait. Sam will find me here, smiling, and he'll never know why.


End file.
